Hunt
by Silent-Vociferation
Summary: Onmund didn't know everything about her, not quite. He didn't understand the implications of her being apart of the Companions, and she hoped he never would. But hunting trips didn't take into consideration what one hoped for.


This was one of the prompts for Fandom February. I had meant to do the others, but as my friend bestowed upon me Dragon Age, I soon became enraptured and lost my inspiration to finish out the month with my Onmund/Dovakhiin fics. But I know there has to be some Onmund fans out there, so I hope you enjoy this fanfic.

The Dovakhiin is left nameless so that you can pretend she's yours. For the most part. My portrayal of the Dovakhiin tends to have magical preferences.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series.

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She hadn't told him. The idea of telling him was… terrifying. The Dragonborn was rumored not to fear anything, and yet she was afraid of telling her lover something very specific.

Of course, it was a secret that the Companions had told her not to reveal to anybody, and of course many people believed her kind to be monsters, and even those who were like her had disliked the condition and had sought to be rid of it.

But the more she told herself these reasons, the more she felt she was simply making up excuses.

"it isn't fair for him to not know."

It wasn't, but just because he didn't know, didn't mean he didn't suspect. He knew that anytime they had sex and he passed out afterwards, she was quick to get up. He had no idea where she went, what she did. He didn't dare think of _who_ she did. Some men might have, but Onmund had faith, even if his father called him a fool for it. His father didn't know the Dragonborn.

Onmund did, and he trusted her with his life.

He just couldn't fathom where she went when she should have been sleeping. The more he thought about it, the more instances he thought of where she hadn't slept.

In fact, he couldn't remember seeing her sleep at all. What was going on?

"She'll tell me when she's ready."

And there came a time when she thought she was ready. Onmund had received a rather bitter letter from his anti-mage family, criticizing him for being such a disappointment, for never investing in things that Nords _should always value_ according to them.

"I always went hunting with father. Isn't that one of their _beloved_ Nord hobbies? Bow and arrow and everything… They make it sound like I ignored the family entirely for my spells," Onmund remarked angrily as he went to throw the letter into the fire.

"Onmund," she started suddenly, hand wrapped around his wrist. "Stop."

He released a sigh, fingers barely keeping the piece of parchment over the flames. This was not the worst reaction he could have given. It was just another disappointing and frustrating letter he'd toss in the fire and mull over quietly the rest of the day. Most would say this was the best possible reaction. He would never explode over it or break down and cry and shout.

But she knew over time all the letters were chipping at his patience and his confidence in himself. Onmund's family had a knack for making him feel like a mistake.

"Keep it. Nothing good can come from resentment and the silent treatment. Keep it and reread it and think it over."

For several seconds there was only the crackle of their fire pit. Finally, however he curled his fingers tighter around the latter, and she loosened her grip to allow him to set it on the table.

"Speaking of… hunting, how about we test out that new bow I enchanted?" the Dovakhiin offered, hoping to move on from the awkward movement.

Onmund raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You don't shoot. You don't even like hunting much," he pointed out, thinking about her love for fire and lightning with the occasional axe hacking.

"Well if I don't shoot, who could possibly test out this new frost damage enchantment on this ancient Nordic bow?"

A slow smile slid onto the Nord's face as the Dragonborn swiped the blue-glowing bow off the wall and offered it to him.

It was meant to be a way to get his mind off his awful family and the poor way they treated him.

Though, if she thought about it, her accidentally turning into a ravenous werewolf ready to rip the throat out of the bear they had been hunting probably accomplished the same task. It just… she just hadn't been ready to tell him like she thought she was.

And now she was barbarically ripping apart a deer, the fourth animal victim in the last five minutes, with her dagger claws and matching fangs.

So far Onmund had stood there, curiously staring at her as she lost control. She might have grown frustrated trying to understand what he could have possibly been thinking, but currently she was in no state to think herself, instead only focusing on the blood pouring down her throat, the meat she tore through with every bite.

She finally calmed down after that one, or so she thought. She stood there, perfectly still, breathing in deeply, exhaling, repeating the process.

But then he took a step towards her, and in seconds she whirled to face him, the remains of the deer still in her claws, a feral snarl ripping through her.

"I've got your back," he whispered, along with several repetitions of her name. "If you need more food… if you need to hunt, _really hunt_… I've got your back. Alright?"

Suddenly the craving was gone, and the snarl faded into nothingness. Her back straightened, the corpse dropped, and now her wolf eyes were staring at him in confusion.

She was in control again.

It had been so long since she had fed.

She returned to her form, bare before him but not ashamed. It always happened, though he wouldn't know that. It caught him off guard instead, but she shrugged off that particular reaction. Turning into a wolf was fine. Turning back into a naked woman was apparently not. The Dragonborn began assembling her scattered armor and clothes, dressing mindlessly due to how she had grown so used to the routine.

"Now you know," she finally spoke, glancing over at him, trying desperately to judge his reaction.

"Yeah," he answered with a grin. "I guess I don't have to purchase a hunting dog, Love."

And he might have felt her playfully hit him if he hadn't been laughing at her so hard. She might have put some force behind it if she hadn't been so happy he'd taken it in stride.

No special treatment.

Just Onmund being Onmund. And her being her.

That's all she really wanted.

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I have now done my part, contributing to the dismal amount of Onmund/Dovakhiin fanfiction. Reviews, critiques, and comments are much appreciated. Thank you very much for reading!

Sivo


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